Whatever Souls Are Made Of, His and Mine Are the Same
by Platform9and3-4
Summary: Heathcliff finds Cathy on the moors and is haunted by his past mistakes as he tries to find a way to overrule the consequences of his actions and be with the one he loves. A One Shot. Please review! This is my first attempt at a fanfic. u


A Cathy and Heathcliff Fanfic

One shot

Heathcliff found her on the moors. It was a miracle he saw her. The rain fell so heavily and at such a slant as to blind whoever tried to peer through it. But there she was, lying among the heath, her figure thrown upon the rocks and her dress soaked and torn by the brush.

He saw her mid-call and when his eyes caught her, he ran to her, stumbling in his rush, nearly dropping his lantern. Reaching her, he fell to his knees, bruising them, and set down his lantern hurriedly. His wet hair hung in his face and the rain dripped into his mouth. He scooped her into his arms. Her breath was ragged and she stared up at him. He could not tell whether it was the drops on her cheeks or if she were crying, but her lip quivered suddenly and gave her away.

"Oh, my Cathy," he said gently, cradling her face and hugging her close, "My dear, Cathy, my love."

His name escaped her mouth and she began to weep. She buried her face in his chest and her whole body shook. He knew he did not need to say anything, he only held her as she wept. They shivered in the rain. Heathcliff felt such compassion and his heart swelled with love for her. He forgot the whirlwind of evil passions that had beset them both. He forgot his mad jealousy for her husband and his rage and bitterness at losing her, leaving her to be snatched up by another. He never should have left. It was always supposed to be this way—her in his arms and both of them residing in one another's hearts. Not secretly and painfully as they were used to, but with the full freedom and peace of their love.

He looked down upon her and he brushed the wet strands of hair from her face. Her skin was pale and she was thin and sickly.

"Why do you not love me anymore?" she moaned through her sobs. "Why do you not come to me? Why don't you love me, oh!" Her body shook. "I waited," she began to gasp, "Three years. You left me. And when you came back, you despised me for marrying when I—when we all thought you dead. Do not cast me from you…you are my only love, my heart…do not cast me from you. Do not betray me to this hell." She began to moan and wretch. Her fingers dug into him. He clutched at her.

"I am here," he called down to her, trying to soothe her, but he was weeping now.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were red. "Take me back to Wuthering Heights. Take me back to our home. We will leave them all behind," she implored. "We'll bar the doors and let none in besides us and Nelly and it will be as it was. We'll run along the moors and—"

"Cathy, you're not well." He stroked her face.

"You cannot know the breaking in my heart. There is an emptiness and it eats at my soul. I hate myself for what I've done."

"Cathy…"

"And I hate you, Heathcliff," she growled. She turned her face away and looked out into the storm. "For leaving me and forcing me to live this way."

He struggled to stand up with her in his arms. He carried her back to Wuthering Heights. He knew she couldn't stay there, but for the night…just for the night. He longed to feel her warmth in his bed. He longed to hold her while he slept. Too many nightmares of losing her ended to waking to an empty and cold bed.

She wept more heavily on his shoulder as he carried her. "Just love me," she cried, "I only want you." She repeated this over and over again. With each echo, Heathcliff could feel his hard heart chipping and the remorse grew to be an unbearable weight.

He reached Wuthering Heights and kicked the door in with his muddy boots. He carried her up to her old room. She convulsed so strongly that she could hardly sit up by herself. He stirred the fire so that it roared and then he helped her off with her wet clothes. Wrapping her naked body in a warm, dry blanket, he set her down before stepping out his own dripping attire.

He lay down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She curled up against him, still muttering, "Love me," over and over, quietly.

Heathcliff breathed in her ear as he stroked her soft skin. "Forgive me," he whispered, choking back his tears. He pressed his head into the crook of her neck, kissing her bare shoulders, begging her forgiveness. She seemed incoherent as her distant eyes became heavily lidded and she fell asleep. He stroked her still, warming her, feeling her nakedness pressed against his. How he longed for her love!

He wished he could undo his past. He wished he had never left, or been able to move on. Had he not been so proud, had he not wished only to spite Cathy's husband, he would have left. He wished he could have stolen Cathy away and run. He wished he had never left the moors. He wished he had never come to the moors. He wished he did not have to live alone for all his days—for he could love no other.

In the morning she was gone.


End file.
